


Inside Out

by impala_deviations (Aedemiel)



Series: Between Fear and Regret [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M, Sibling Incest
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-01
Updated: 2018-08-26
Packaged: 2019-03-12 10:55:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,559
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13545882
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aedemiel/pseuds/impala_deviations
Summary: Sequel to Upside Down. Sam struggles to deal with the realization he is attracted to Dean and Dean's casual acceptance of the idea of them being together.





	1. Projection

Sam was silent as Dean drove them to the house that housed one Carver Edlund, a.k.a. Chuck Shurley. He hadn’t been able to find his voice since that moment in the motel. Everything was sharp-edged and almost too real to look at. Dean’s manner had been casual, as though he hadn’t just detonated a nuclear bomb in the middle of all Sam’s preconceptions and beliefs about the world. Hell, he hadn’t even known Dean was into guys at all, let alone imagine that he had seriously thought about-- Sam’s brain came to a screeching halt. He still wasn’t ready to face that reality yet. 

He winced as his unconscious worrying at his bottom lip split the delicate skin and he tasted blood. The bright, coppery tang, so different from the dark, heavy flavor of demon blood, jerked him out of his reverie and he turned to see Dean looking at him, his face concerned.

“I said, are you OK?” he asked. Apparently not for the first time. 

“Sorry,” Sam said, not even sure what he was apologizing for. “I’m fine. Is this the house?”

“Yup,” Dean said, checking the address he’d written down. “This is the one.”

“It’s not much to look at,” Sam commented. And it wasn’t. The house had a shabby, uncared for look and the small yard was scrubby with more weeds than anything else. 

“I guess writing these stupid books wasn’t exactly the road to fame and fortune,” Dean agreed. “Thank God.”

Sam couldn’t disagree. An uncomfortable sense of anger and resentment began to bubble through his gut. If this asshole hadn’t written those damn books, Sam wouldn’t be in this predicament, damn it. He followed Dean up to the front door and traded a look with his brother before Dean leaned forward and pressed the doorbell. They heard it ring distantly inside the house.

The man who answered the door was scruffy and bearded, wrapped in a bathrobe and his face was wary.

“You Chuck Shurley?” Dean said without preamble.    
  
“The Chuck Shurley who wrote the "Supernatural" books?” Sam added, glaring at the man who had turned his life upside down.   
  
“Maybe. Why?” The man shifted as though preparing to close the door.   
  
“I'm Dean. This is Sam,” Dean said, indicating Sam with a jerk of his thumb. “The Dean and Sam you've been writing about.” His voice was hard and there was no mistaking Chuck’s flinch before he shut the door in their faces. Dean’s expression darkened and he rang the bell again.

The door opened just a crack. “Look, uh... I appreciate your enthusiasm. Really, I do. It's, uh, it's always nice to hear from the fans,” Chuck said, almost stumbling over his words. It seemed like this was not the first time he’d met someone claiming to be them. “But, uh, for your own good, I strongly suggest you get a life.”

He attempted to swing the door shut once more, but Dean was ready for him and his hand shot out to prevent it closing. Dean wasn’t angry yet, but Sam could see his patience was wearing thin. So he wasn’t surprised when Dean aggressively shoved the door open. They ignored the squawks of outrage and forced their way into the house.

Chuck’s eyes roamed around, searching for an escape route or perhaps a phone to call for help. Either way, he was out of luck. Dean stepped right into his personal space, radiating menace. Sam put a hand on his brother’s arm, a silent communication that he needed to back down a little. He could feel the hard muscle, the warmth that radiated from him even through his jacket and he swallowed. This was not a good time to get distracted.   
  
“Look, we just want to know how you're doing it,” Sam said as reasonably as he could to the visibly cowed author. If there was a slight quiver in his voice, Dean didn’t seem to notice.   
  
“I'm not doing anything,” Chuck defended. But there was a look in his eyes that told Sam he was not being entirely truthful. He knew something. Dean was peppering the craven man with questions about how he knew about demons and other creatures since he denied being a hunter himself. He’d advanced on Chuck until the scruffy writer fell backward onto the sagging couch. 

“Is this some kind of "Misery" thing? Ah, it is, isn't it? It's a "Misery" thing!” Chuck cried out.

Dean rolled his eyes. “No, it's not a "Misery" thing. Believe me, we are  _ not  _ fans!”

“Well, then, what do you want?” Chuck cried out, his entire body quivering in fear.

Sam peered at him and figured they might as well go back to the beginning because it really didn’t seem like Chuck was paying attention. “I'm Sam,” he said firmly before nodding his head at his brother. “And that's Dean.”

Chuck swallowed but stood his ground as best he could, lying on a couch in his shorts. “Sam and Dean are fictional characters. I made them up! They're not real!”

Dean exchanged a look with Sam. “I guess we’ll just have to show him.” He grabbed Chuck by the arm and started dragging him out the front door, Chuck struggling futilely. He came to a halt at the back of the Impala and threw open the trunk. Chuck’s eyes almost popped clean out of his skull.

“Are those real guns?” he gasped.

Dean gave him a hard-edged grin. “Yup.” He began to pick up odd items and wave them in Chuck’s face. “This is real rock salt, these are real fake IDs.”

The man was many things but brave definitely wasn’t one of them. The guns had definitely made an impact. Sam watched the writer cower, his temper burning slowly. The urge to just break Chuck’s scrawny neck was almost overwhelming and he started in surprise at the way his mind had jumped so easily to violence. He’d begun to notice that more and more these days. A side effect of the demon blood? Or just the withdrawal? He resolved to ask Ruby next time he saw her.

“How much do you know?” he demanded. “Do you know about the angels? Or Lilith breaking the seals?”

The astonishment on Chuck’s face was palpable. He blinked rapidly several times, his breath coming in short little pants. “Wait a minute. How do you know about that?” he said, his voice climbing the registers.

Dean picked up Sam’s cue. “The question is how do you?”

“Because I wrote it?” Chuck said, giving Dean a sheepish grin.

_ Oh, this was just perfect, _ Sam thought.  _ On top of everything else he had to deal with, the son of a bitch is still doing this?  _ Chuck explained that he’d continued to write even after the publisher went bankrupt, but had never been able to get those books published. The final straw was when Dean introduced them once again, but this time mentioning the Winchester name, making the writer blanch.

“The last names were never in the books. I never told anybody about that. I never even wrote that down.” He began to stagger towards the house and this time Dean let him go. Sam glared at his brother.

“Chill,” Dean advised. “I think we convinced him.” He ambled towards Chuck’s front door, leaving Sam seething in his wake.  _ Dean was telling him to chill? _

In the filthy kitchen, Chuck was leaning against the kitchen sink, a glass of whiskey in one hand. He gulped it down and put the glass in the sink before turning around. He wasn’t exactly delighted to see Sam and Dean standing there.

“Oh! Oh, you're still there,” he said shakily.

Dean shrugged. “Yup.”

“You're not a hallucination.”

“Nope.” 

Sam opened his mouth to add something but Dean’s hand flashed back and grabbed his wrist in warning. Startled, Sam closed his mouth with a click. Dean’s skin was warm and dry and Sam had to swallow hard.  _ Fuck, this really wasn’t the time. _

He must have missed something because Chuck was now waxing lyrically and tragically about being a cruel, capricious God. He began reciting a litany of the things the brothers had been through until Sam’s nerve-endings were well and truly frayed.

Dean rolled his shoulders in a familiar way.  _ Dammit, was he feeling sorry for this asshole? _

Chuck appeared to be on the verge of a breakdown. Tears actually sprang to the man’s eyes.

Dean clicked his fingers in front of Chuck’s face to get his attention. “You didn't toy with us, Chuck, okay? You didn't create us.”

Chuck was wringing his hands again and bemoaning his terrible writing skills. It was beginning to get seriously on Sam’s nerves. Dean seemed amused if exasperated by Chuck. Sam really didn’t see anything funny about this.

“We think you're probably just psychic,” Sam suggested irritably.

Chuck shook his head in denial. “No. If I were psychic, you think I'd be writing? Writing is  _ hard _ .”

_ Cry me a river, _ Sam thought. He had a bad feeling about the look on Chuck’s face. He was right to be concerned. Not only had Chuck continued to write, his latest manuscript contained an author insert. 

Dean exchanged a look with Sam. “I think we need to take a look at this book.”


	2. Torment

Sam wasn’t sure exactly why Dean had been so insistent that they do laundry right now, but he had to admit that it was long overdue. He wrinkled his nose at some of the riper items at the bottom of his duffel bag, carefully sorting into whites, light coloreds, and darks. Behind him, Dean was reading his way through a slightly dog-eared manuscript that Chuck had reluctantly turned over to them.

“I’m sitting in a laundromat, reading about myself sitting in a laundromat reading about myself,” Dean complained. “My head hurts.” Sam couldn’t help but agree. He wondered if Chuck had written anything about that odd moment in the motel but wasn’t brave enough to ask and Dean had so far refused to let him look at the manuscript for himself.

“There's got to be something this guy's not telling us,” he said as he tossed the dark pile into the machine.

"’Sam tossed his gigantic darks into the machine. He was starting to have doubts about Chuck, about whether he was telling the whole truth.’” Dean recited from the manuscript like he was auditioning for some cheesy high school play. “And he was desperately worried about what else Chuck might have written about.”

Sam went rigid with fear. “Stop it,” he said. He had to stay focused, and not think about… what he was trying not to think about.

“'Stop it,' Sam said," Dean grinned at him. “Guess what you do next.”

Sam covered his confusion with temper and scowled at Dean. His hands were shaking as he turned his back on his brother. He wished fervently that they’d never met this Chuck Shurley. Nothing in the manuscript so far had been at all helpful and there was no way he could keep his mind blank forever.

"’Sam turned his back on Dean, his face brooding and pensive.’” Dean flipped over another page. “I mean, I don't know how he's doing it, but this guy is doing it. I can't see your face, but those are definitely your ‘brooding and pensive’ shoulders.” Sam didn’t want Dean thinking about his shoulders. He didn’t want Dean thinking about any part of his anatomy. He let out a sigh of exasperation. There was no question, his brother was trying to get a rise out of him. _Dick_.

“Hey, you just thought I was a dick,” Dean complained, looking down at the manuscript.

Sam switched on the machine and turned around, trying not to look too pissed off. He had to admit, even if it wasn’t useful, there was no question Chuck had some sort of talent.

“The guy's good,” he said, impressed despite himself. Dean was moving quickly through the pages now, his face intent. And if Sam hadn’t been looking directly at him, he might have missed the expression that flickered across Dean’s face. “What is it?”

“Nothing,” Dean said, his face studiously blank. Sam wasn’t fooled.

“Spill,” he insisted.

“It’s nothing, I swear,” Dean denied. Sam lunged for the manuscript but Dean was ready for him, holding it just out of reach. No doubt he’d read that move in there too. Sam wasn’t ready to give up. He launched himself at Dean, who tried to dodge but wasn’t fast enough. They both landed heavily on the linoleum floor, Dean’s breath forced out of his lungs in a whoosh and the papers fell from his hand, scattering across the floor.

Sam looked down at Dean, who had stopped rasping and coughing. There were a handful of freckles dusted across Dean’s nose, so faint Sam could only see them when he was this close. He didn’t think Dean would appreciate the sentiment, but they were pretty. He’d always known intellectually that his brother was a good-looking man. Women always seemed to go for it, that was for sure. For the first time, he understood why.

What he did not understand was the flush of pink staining his brother’s cheeks. Dean wetted his lips and Sam’s gaze was riveted to that small hint of his tongue, those full, rosy lips. He wondered how they would feel when-- Shock rippled through his body and he scrambled away from Dean. He began to gather the sheets of paper, flustered and a little scared. He looked down at the page in his hand.

_Sam was lying on top of Dean, his eyes roaming his brother’s face. Dean was aware of every single inch of Sam’s enormous body and desperately fought back his own body’s response. He’d already frightened Sam once today and he had no desire to do it again. His mouth was dry and he moistened his lips without thinking about it. Sam’s pupils dilated and for one insane moment, Dean thought his brother might kiss him. But before he could even decide if he wanted that or not, Sam had flung himself away with a soft sound of distress._

Spots appeared in front of Sam’s eyes and his head swam. Too many emotions, all conflicting and intense, were tumbling about inside his mind. Dean’s hand came down on his shoulder.

“Breathe, Sammy,” he said gently. “I’m sorry.”

Sam shook his head, none of this was Dean’s fault. He placed his hand over his brother’s, taking comfort in the skin to skin contact, and squeezed. Dean let out a low sigh and turned Sam around to face him.

“Sam, I’m not gonna do anything you don’t want,” he said. “You’re in the driver’s seat.”

“For a change,” Sam said in a shaky attempt at humor.

Dean brushed his fingers over Sam’s cheeks, wiping away tears he hadn’t even noticed he’d shed. “Touché,” he smiled. “You have to stop overthinking everything.”

Sam gave him a watery smile in return. “Why break the habit of a lifetime?”

“You got that right. Come on, let’s get these pages back together and figure out what we do next.”

* * *

The bar Dean selected for dinner that night had a much more agreeable menu than usual. Sure, the usual burgers and other staples of American cuisine were there, but there were also several genuinely tasty sounding salads and entrees that weren’t cooked in artery-hardening grease. No doubt his brother had gone to some trouble to find them a place to eat that would appeal to Sam’s palate. The sweetness of that gesture brought a lump to his throat.

And it didn’t stop there. Dean ignored the casual flirting of the waitress, didn’t once scan the room for any girl that caught his eye and was as attentive as Sam could want from his brother. _Or a date…_ That thought made his stomach go all swirly again so he pushed it away. They talked of other things, including Dean’s concern that he might have to change the fuel pump on the Impala.

“Did I ever tell you about the time me and Brady got drunk and he got his head stuck in the railings outside our dorm?”

“I don’t think so,” Dean said, laughing. “Why did he stick his head in there in the first place?”

Sam grinned at his brother. “That was my fault. They lock the doors at 10 pm and residents had to use their key to get in. I’d forgotten mine and Brady was so drunk he kept missing the keyhole. I made a grab for the key and he dropped it. It bounced off the steps and into the grass behind this iron fence.”

“So like a doofus, he reached through and got stuck?” Dean surmised.

“Yup. We had to call the fire department to cut him free.” Sam swallowed the last of his beer. “I wonder what he’s up to now.”

“Hopefully far away from any kind of fencing,” Dean said. He looked at his empty bottle and frowned. “You want another drink?”

Sam shook his head. “I’m beat.” He thought Dean looked disappointed so he added, “You can stay for another if you want. It’s not that far to the motel, I can walk.”

“Nah,” Dean said, getting up. “I’m good.”

* * *

Sam was roused from sleep by the sensation of the mattress dipping. He made a wordless sound and started to roll over but a hand on his shoulder made him stop. Gentle fingers brushed his hair from his face and then he felt a warm body slide in and spoon up behind him.

“Dean?” he said blurrily.

“Shh,” the reply came. “Go back to sleep.”

He wanted to, but the feeling of his brother cuddled up against his back was odd and the way Dean’s hand draped over his hip was way more intimate than he was comfortable with. He fidgeted and that hand began to move, stroking up and down his thigh. There was nothing inherently sexual about it, but it wasn’t at all how they normally interacted. Hell, just getting a hug from Dean was rare enough.

Despite the strangeness, the motion was soothing and Sam felt himself begin to drift. He didn’t even twitch when Dean placed featherlight kisses on his neck and nuzzled his nose into Sam’s hair. A warm, lazy arousal curled sinuously in his abdomen, too slow and slight to cause alarm. Sam breathed out a shuddering breath and hummed with pleasure. The hand slid across his stomach, making the muscles quiver and Sam suddenly snapped fully awake and moved to shove Dean away.

Except his hands met with empty air. There was nobody in the bed with him. He looked over to see Dean sprawled out on his own bed and clearly sound asleep.

Thoroughly unnerved, he scuttled into the bathroom and closed the door behind him without turning on the light. His body was hot and there was that hint of nascent desire still very much present. He could hear the sound of his heart pounding and he had the disquieting sense he was losing his grip. He staggered over to the sink and splashed cold water on his face.

He felt disoriented and off-kilter. Had he imagined the whole thing? Some kind of weird dream, caused by stress and confusion? Real or imagined, his body was clear on one thing; he wanted more.

He stared at the dim reflection in the mirror, trying to sort out his conflicting emotions and physical sensations. He almost couldn’t believe it, but he was doing what Dean asked him to do. Seriously consider turning their relationship into a sexual one. He shouldn’t, but since when had that stopped him doing anything? He shouldn’t be fucking a demon either.

That was a bucket of cold water over his head. He couldn’t afford for Dean to find out that he was still seeing Ruby, or that he was drinking demon blood in order to strengthen his powers to the point he actually had a chance of killing Lilith. He took a deep breath. He couldn’t let this thing with Dean go any further, no matter what he wanted.


	3. Easier to Run

Overnight, Chuck had apparently written another chapter and it was the most ridiculous thing Sam had ever heard. Him and Lilith, doing the horizontal tango? He was more likely to sleep with Dean…  _ Oh. _ He pushed the thought away.

“You're kidding me, right?” He laughed at the insanity of what Chuck was suggesting. But he didn’t like the way Dean was looking at him one bit.

“You think this is funny?” Dean said. He didn’t sound amused. If Sam didn’t know better, he’d think he was jealous. His stomach lurched.  _ Maybe he was. _

“You don't? I mean, come on. ‘Fiery demonic passion’?” It was absurd, surely Dean could see that?

“It's just a first draft,” Chuck defended, looking affronted.

Dean held out one hand. “Wait, wait, wait, wait. Lilith is a little girl.” That kind of put a damper on Sam’s amusement. He might be skirting the edges of acceptable behavior when it came to sex but kids were a whole other level of nope.

Chuck shuffled, shaking his head. “No, uh, this time she's a ‘comely dental hygienist from Bloomington, Indiana.’”  _ Who the hell used ‘comely’ in a non-satirical context?  _ But there was something off about the way Chuck was looking everywhere but at him.  _ Was the son of a bitch lying to them? _

“Great. Perfect.” Dean said, throwing up his hands. “So what happens after the... ‘fiery demonic’ whatever?” The disgust on his face was making Sam angry. Dean was fucking jealous and it was stupid. He wasn’t going to sleep with Lilith. The idea was nauseating.

“I don't know,” Chuck shrugged. “It hasn't come to me yet.” But his eyes slid to one side, a classic tell that he was lying, Sam was convinced of it now.

Sam turned on his brother. “Dean, look, there's nothing to worry about. Lilith and me? In bed?” But he could see Dean doubted him and it hurt. Did he really think Sam was that much of a slut? 

_ He thinks you want to fuck him, _ a nasty voice in his head said.  _ Doesn’t wanting to have sex with your brother make you the definition of a slut? _ He shoved the voice away irritably. Dean was asking Chuck about how his visions came to him, something the crappy writer laughably called his ‘process’. It sounded a lot like how Sam’s visions worked as it turned out, so Sam figured their guess about him being psychic was on the nose. They took the latest chapter from Chuck, who had apparently been expecting that and handed it over without complaint.

Back in the car, Sam began reading. The manuscript they’d read so far wasn’t going to hit the New York Times Bestseller list anytime soon. But this latest chapter was  _ garbage _ . The narrative jumped around, and there were huge chunks of exposition or plot that were clearly missing because several events were referred to in the past tense but never described. 

“OK, fine,” he said finally, resisting the urge to just crumple the ghastly thing into a ball and toss it out of the window. “So what do we do?”

“Sam, if Lilith’s coming here we need to get the Hell out of Dodge.” Dean sounded really worried and Sam’s temper began to smolder.

“We’re just gonna run?” Sam said, outraged. They never ran, not from anything. Taking to their heels because Lilith was actually going to show up seemed insane. They’d been tracking her for months and now they were just gonna split?

Dean gave him a serious glance. “Dude, we are a long way from ready for a face-to-face death match with Lilith.” He wasn’t wrong, even if Sam hated to admit it. But it was the specter of Dean’s jealousy, the fact he clearly didn’t trust Sam not to bang Lilith just because Chuck said he would, that really burned. He opened his mouth to say something but Dean was slowing the car down. Ahead of them was a roadblock, two police cars parked to block the way.

A quick conversation with the Deputy felt strangely ominous. What were the chances that the bridge would just  _ happen _ to be out, trapping them in town? Dean turned the car around and headed back into town.

“Now what?” Sam asked, uncomfortably pleased that a confrontation was going to be forced.

“I dunno,” Dean said, casting a sideways glance at him.

“Will you stop that?” Sam snapped. “If I’m gonna fuck anyone right now, it’s not gonna be Lilith!”

The car swerved briefly although Dean’s face remained stony.  _ Shit. _

“Bad choice of words,” Sam mumbled, his face flaming. “But my point still stands. Why don’t you trust me on this, Dean?”

“Maybe because she wouldn’t be the first demon to warm your bed,” Dean growled.

“Nice,” Sam said, turning his head away to look out of the window. It wasn’t exactly a snappy rejoinder but Dean’s suspicion was driving him crazy.  _ Except, the part where he’s right of course. Since you are still having sex with Ruby and drinking her blood.  _

Dean made an exasperated sound. “OK, OK. I’m sorry. Let’s go get something to eat. I can’t think straight when I’m hungry.”

* * *

The diner was busy, but luckily not so busy that they had to wait long for a table. Dean had snatched the manuscript out of Sam’s hands and was reading through it. Sam watched him, chewing on his bottom lip. 

“Hey, this could be a good thing. I mean, if this is what puts us on the path to Lilith, then all we got to do is get off the path,” Dean said.

Sam peered at him. “How do you mean?”

Dean expounded on his theory of using the chapter as a guide and do exactly the opposite of everything it described. Although his face when Sam pointed out he wasn’t going to able to get his bacon cheeseburger was hilarious. Humor was hard to find these days, so sue him.

The waitress was approaching, so Dean frowned and asked her, “Hi, uh, what's good?"

“Well, if you like burgers, Oprah's girlfriend said we have the best bacon cheeseburgers in the country,” she said. Sam couldn’t help it, he laughed and when Dean’s face turned stormy, laughed even louder. Sam ordered the Cobb salad, since the manuscript didn’t mention what he ate. Dean grumpily ordered the veggie tofu burger.

They argued again over whether or not Sam was likely to have sex with Lilith, but Sam wanted to make a different point.

“Dean, for the first time, we have warning that Lilith is close,” he said.

His brother looked confused. “So?”

“So... we've got the jump on her. If we know when she's coming, we know where she's – this is an opportunity.” That did not go down as well as he had hoped. Dean’s fists clenched and that muscle in his jaw ticked, a clear sign he was trying very hard not to lose his temper.

“It frustrates me when you say such reckless things,” he said finally. 

Sam was done. “Well, it frustrates me when you'd rather hide that fight!” The waitress came over with their food, looking warily at both of them. As soon as she’d put the plates down, she hurried away.

Dean leaned in close to Sam, so close that Sam could feel his breath ruffling his hair. He swallowed hard. It wasn’t Lilith he needed to worry about.

“It's not hiding. It's being smart. It's picking your battles,” Dean hissed. “This is a battle that we are not ready to fight.” He took a huge bite of his burger and his eyes widened. “Oh, my god. This is delicious. Tofu is amazing!”

Sam frowned at him. He didn’t mind tofu but he couldn’t imagine Dean liking it in a million years. The waitress fluttered over to them, clearly upset.

“I am so sorry. I gave you the bacon cheeseburger by mistake,” she said, whipping Dean’s plate away.

Sam scowled and tried not to see it as part of a conspiracy. But after everything that had already happened since they’d met Chuck, he had a sinking feeling avoiding fate might be harder than they had hoped.

* * *

The motel they’d chosen was depressing even by their standards. Even as Sam had pointed out to Dean that it charged by the hour, his brother was unmoved. If the manuscript said the Red Motel, then this Toreador Motel it had to be. There weren’t many other options and none in their price range. But when Dean started stashing hex bags around the room, Sam’s patience ran out. 

“What are you doing?” he demanded.

Dean shrugged and stashed the final bag. “Couple of hex bags ought to Lilith-proof the room.” 

Sam just stared at him, the implication clear. “So, what? I'm supposed to just hole up here all night?”

Dean folded his arms over his chest. “Yes. That's exactly what you're gonna do, OK? And no research. I don't care what you do – use the Magic Fingers--” Sam gulped as he remembered the look on Dean’s face whenever they found a motel that had the peculiar device. “...or watch Casa Erotica on Pay-Per-View.” Dean reached into Sam’s bag and pulled out his laptop. Sam’s eyes widened.

“Oh, dude, come on!” he exclaimed. “You can’t take my computer!”

Dean grinned at him, enjoying this way too much. “Just call it a little insurance.” And then he announced he was going to park the Impala. Sam stared at him, puzzled. 

“The car’s already parked,” he pointed out. “In front of this… motel.”

“Not good enough,” Dean said. “I don’t wanna be tempted to go out again. So I’m gonna park her a mile or so away and walk back.”

“This is insane,” Sam sulked. “And you, walk?”

Dean ignored him. “Behave yourself, would you? No homework. Watch some porn.” And with that parting shot, he left, a smug grin on his face. Sam kicked the chair with an incoherent yell of annoyance.

This plan was stupid. And Sam had a horrid feeling it wasn’t going to work. Thankfully Dean hadn’t stripped him of his cellphone as well. He pulled it out and called Chuck.

“Sam,” the writer answered wearily.

“Hi,” Sam said, suddenly feeling nervous. Chuck knew a lot about him, stuff even Dean didn’t know, he was sure. “I… Can you come over? I’m at the Toreador.”

“The Toreador,” Chuck repeated. “That’s a... “

“Skanky motel? Yeah, I know. Blame Dean and his obsession with trying to avoid what you wrote in that chapter. But listen, we need to talk.”

“OK,” Chuck said reluctantly. “I’ll be there in ten minutes.”


	4. A Little Defiance

Chuck was as good as his word and ten minutes later, Sam opened the door to reveal the scruffy author shifting nervously and looking over his shoulder.

“You wanted to see me,” Chuck said unnecessarily. Sam nodded and stepped back to let him enter, then closed the door behind him. It made a loud clunk as it did so and Chuck jumped. Boy, he was antsy today.

“Thanks for coming,” Sam said lamely. Chuck gave him a half-smile that didn't reach his eyes. “Um... I was just wondering how much you know. About me.”

Chuck became even more wary. “What do you mean?”

Sam glared at him impatiently. “Have you seen visions of me when I'm not with Dean?”

The author’s eyes widened in understanding. “Oh... You want to know if I know about the demon blood,” he said shakily.

“You didn't tell Dean.”

“I didn't even write it into the books,” Chuck told him. He looked embarrassed. “I was afraid it would make you look unsympathetic.”

Sam’s temper stirred inside him. “Unsympathetic?”

“Yeah, come on, Sam,” Chuck said, looking around as if searching for an escape. “I mean, sucking blood? You gotta know that's wrong.”

A cold feeling slithered down Sam’s spine. It was the unspoken worry he’d harbored ever since Ruby had first suggested it. That it was as wrong as it felt, demon blood was thick and smoky tasting and frankly disgusting but the power high on the other hand… He shivered and his anger drained away, leaving him hollow and chilled.

“It scares the hell out of me. I mean, I feel it inside of me. I... I wish to god I could stop,” Sam confessed. He raked his hair out of his face, shame making him almost as twitchy as Chuck.

“But you keep going back,” Chuck said, the slightest tinge of what sounded like pity in his voice.

“What choice have I got?” Sam demanded. “If it helps me kill Lilith and stop the apocalypse –”

Chuck grimaced at him. “I thought that was Dean's job. That's what the angels say, right?”

Sam sighed, not wanting to say it aloud but it wasn’t like he was doing this for kicks. “Dean’s not... he's not Dean lately. Ever since he got out of hell. He needs help.”

Chuck looked at him skeptically and Sam found himself defending his actions to Chuck of all people. The writer had this all wrong. He wasn’t doing this because it made him feel stronger, or more in control. 

“Am I strong enough to stop Lilith tonight?” he asked, half expecting Chuck to blow him off. He wasn’t disappointed.

The author shrugged unhelpfully. “I don't know. I haven't seen that far yet.”

“All right,” Sam sighed. “If you don’t know, you don’t know.”

“You love him a lot, don’t you?” Chuck observed, deftly changing the subject. He wandered over to the table and poked through the pile of books and papers lying there.

“Who? Dean? Of course, he’s my brother,” Sam said automatically. 

“But it’s not just that, is it?” Chuck said slyly, turning his head to look at Sam. His expression was cunning, it wasn’t a good look on the rat-faced little writer.

Sam dropped heavily onto the bed, depression pressing on his shoulders. He leaned forward, his hands dangling over his knees and his hair hanging down. “I suppose you’re gonna tear a strip off me for that too?”

“No,” Chuck said softly and Sam looked up in surprise. “Look, Sam, the way you two were brought up, a bit of codependency is kinda to be expected.”

“Codependency,” Sam echoed. “Right.”

“OK, I know it goes deeper than that. I’m not gonna tell you it’s wrong. What’s the point? You’ll do what you want to do anyway and honestly, in the grand scheme of things, I kinda feel like where’s the harm?” Chuck's cheeks were burning as he spoke and Sam wondered what he knew that he wasn’t saying out loud. “And uh… if you were to try and stop with the demon blood, you might need a… distraction.”

Sam’s mouth dropped open. “That’s… not what I expected you to say.”

Chuck rubbed at his eyes, which Sam noticed were reddened and bloodshot. He looked terribly uncomfortable all of a sudden. “I’m in no position to judge,” he said in a low voice. Sam opened his mouth to speak. “Don’t ask. I can’t talk about it.”

Sam felt out of his depth and he wasn’t sure how that had happened. Chuck wouldn’t meet his eyes and he began shuffling towards the door. Sam let him go.

* * *

Sam was bored. Chuck had left an hour ago, and he was in no mood for Casa Erotica or whatever other bullshit porn was on the crappy TV. And to be honest, he feared where his mind might go if he started thinking about sex. 

Where the Hell was Dean? He’d expected him to be back long before now. He lay back on the bed. Maybe he should take the opportunity for a nap. It wasn’t like he and Dean got a lot of sleep these days. He closed his eyes and let himself drift. Unfortunately, turning off his brain wasn’t that easy. 

This was all so stupid. Hex bags, indeed. He leaped off the bed and began gathering them up in a fit of pique. Screw Dean and his lack of trust. He tossed them all into a metal trashcan and tossed in a lit book of matches before he could change his mind. Once the hex bags had reduced to smoldering remains, he returned to his bed and lay down again.

He’d resolved only this morning that he was going to quash these uncomfortable feelings about Dean, that pursuing them would only lead to heartbreak. As it was, he was worried that if Dean found out about the demon blood before he had a chance to show how it gave them an edge, his brother might disown him anyway.

But it felt like no matter what he did, he just kept circling around to his brother’s words.  _ We don’t have to do anything. Never speak of it again. But we could. _

_ But we could. _

Could they? Dean apparently thought so, and he implied heavily that this was something he’d thought about before. Sam had had the occasional erotic thought about Dean when he was a teen, but he’d always ascribed that to hormones, curiosity and the unusually insular nature of their lives. 

Once at Stanford, he’d quickly forgotten about it as he plunged headfirst into the college experience. He’d be the first to admit he’d been less than discerning as a freshman, falling into bed with anyone who caught his eye. He and Brady had even fucked a few times, admittedly when very drunk. But he’d never thought Brady was all that into it. Sam had been coming to terms with being bisexual when Brady introduced him to Jess, and any further consideration of his sexuality was abandoned.

_ But we could. _

Sam shivered, arousal beginning a slow, sinuous twist in his gut. Had Dean ever been with a guy before? He’d never before thought so, but his ease with this whole crazy situation was making him question that. That Dean experienced same-sex attraction he was more certain of, and the way he looked at Cas sometimes was positively obscene. 

That poured a little cold water on his desire. Castiel was something of a wild card, in more ways than one. As a good little Angel of the Lord, he’d no doubt be horrified by all of this. But he couldn’t imagine him being very receptive to Dean’s advances either.  _ Can’t imagine there’s room in his ass for Dean’s cock anyway, not with that giant stick rammed up there. _ Sam snorted to himself at the irreverence.

The motel door flew open, and even though Sam wasn’t doing anything other than lying there, he still jumped up guiltily.

“Dean!” he exclaimed.

“Come on,” Dean said. “We’re getting out of here.”

Sam gaped at him. What the Hell had gotten into Dean now? He listened to Dean explain that Chuck wasn’t just some psychic but was actually a prophet. And Castiel, like a bad fucking penny, had shown up to drop that bombshell. There were days when Sam really hated the angel. Today was one of them.

Dean narrowed his eyes at him. “Apparently Chuck is writing the gospel of us.”

This was ridiculous. “And you believe him?” A gospel? Castiel was either mistaken or lying.

“What? Of course, why would he lie about this?”

“Right. Because he’s never lied to us before,” Sam snapped. “I don’t know what he’s up to, Dean, but this is nuts.”

“Nuts or not, I ain’t taking any chances. We’re leaving.”

“No,” Sam said, planting his feet. He had to make a stand, otherwise, the angels would be leading them around by the nose for the rest of their lives.

Dean’s eyes widened. “Lilith is gonna slaughter you,” he growled.

Sam gave the most nonchalant shrug he could manage. “Maybe she will, maybe she won't.” 

Dean stepped into his personal space, glaring at him pugnaciously. “So what? You think you can take her?” he asked in disbelief. God damn it, could Dean not just trust him for once?

“Only one way to find out, Dean,” Sam said, unwilling to back down. “And I say bring her on.”

“Sam…” Dean said warningly. That familiar tone that he was close to the end of his rope. Well, good, because Sam had run out long ago.

“You think I'll do it, don't you?” he accused. “You think I'll go dark side!” He didn’t mean it, not really. His stomach dropped when he saw the uncertainty in Dean’s face. Betrayal stabbed at him.

“Yes! Okay? Yes. The way you've been acting lately? The things you've been doing?” Dean snarled. Sam felt cold inside. Dean didn’t trust him. How could he… Sam pushed that thought away. “Oh, I know.” Dean continued.  _ Shit! He knew? How? _ “How you ripped Alastair apart like it was nothing, like you were swatting a fly. Cas told me, okay?” 

Sam staggered away from Dean, his head whirling. His real secret was still safe, and although he spared an angry thought for the interfering angel, he pulled it back. Who knew how much Cas could read in this thoughts?

“What else did he tell you?” he demanded.

“Nothing I don't already know.” Dean said. “That you've been using your psychic crap, and you've been getting stronger. We just don't know why, and we don't know how.” 

So Dean and Cas had been talking about him behind his back. He shook his head, what else had Dean shared about him? Dean had that look about him, the one where he laid down an ultimatum. He wasn’t disappointed. And when Sam told his brother once again that he had no intention of leaving, Dean gave him such a mournful look his will almost crumbled. But he had to see this through.


	5. Insufficient Temptation

Sam paced and fumed for a few minutes before angrily pushing his thoughts aside and focusing on his meeting with Lilith. He had a few precautions to prepare before she arrived. A devil’s trap under the rug by the bed. Place the knife on the nightstand in plain view, nice easy bait. He breathed in and out, trying to center himself. He could do this. He’d been getting stronger and whereas he wasn’t underestimating Lilith, he felt ready. Right on cue, there was a knock at the door.

 

The blonde young woman who grinned at him was more creepy than comely in Sam’s view, but there was no accounting for taste. Maybe it was just knowing who she really was and the thought that until recently she’d been a little girl. He stepped back to let her into the room. Of course, if he’d thought he could trick her with the knife and rug trap, he’d be out of luck. But it was only meant as a distraction, to get her guard down if she thought that was all he could do.

 

“You're gonna have to try a lot harder than that,” she said tartly, her eyes flashing with amusement.

 

“How about this?” He reached out his hand towards her, screwing up his face as he concentrated as much of his power on her as he could, just like Ruby had taught him. A wind rose from nowhere, blowing her hair back, but nothing more than that. With chagrin, he realized he might have bitten off more than he could chew.

 

Lilith grinned at him, delighted. “You're strong. But you're not that strong. Not yet.”

 

Sam shrugged with as much bravado as he could muster. “So why don't you throw me around then?”

 

There was a tiny pout. “Because I can't, and you know it. You're immune to my charms. Seems we're at a stalemate.”

 

He wondered why she had come here and said so. And he didn’t believe her when she claimed to want to talk. Nor was he all that interested in what she had to say.

 

“What if I'm offering to stand down? From the seals... the apocalypse... all of it?” she said coyly.

 

Sam rolled his eyes so hard they almost popped out of his skull. “Riiiighht. Please, do you really expect me to believe that?”

 

Lilith gave him a shockingly honest-sounding laugh. “Honestly? No. You were always the smart one. But it's the truth. You can end it, Sam. Right here, right now. I'll stop breaking seals, Lucifer keeps rotting in his cage. All you have to do is agree to my terms.”

 

This made absolutely no sense. She was winning, why the Hell would she back off now? Something didn’t add up here and Sam wanted to get to the bottom of it. But when she claimed that she wasn’t expected to the survive the war, that in fact, she’d die before the fighting even began, it was even more risible. Still, Sam was curious enough to see where this was going.

 

“What do you want?”

 

Lilith gave a roll of her shoulders and a wistful smile. “For it to go back to the way it was. Before I had angels to deal with 24/7. The good old days, when it was all baby blood, all the time.” _Gross_.

 

“And what do you want in return?” Sam asked, sure that it wasn’t going to be a price he was willing to pay.

 

“Your head on a stick. Dean's, too. Call it a consolation prize.” She was smiling at him like this was oh so reasonable. “So what do you say, Sam? Self-sacrifice is the Winchester way, isn't it?”

 

Sam laughed in her face. This was pathetic. “You really think I'm stupid enough to fall for this?”

 

Lilith gave him a serious look. “I make a deal, I have to follow through. Those are the rules, and you know it. Are you really so arrogant that you would put your life before the lives of six billion innocent people? Maybe it's all that demon blood pumping through your pipes. Man after my own heart.” That jab hit home and Sam was provoked against his will.

 

“You think I'm like you? I am nothing like you!”

 

Lilith smiled at him again and sauntered towards the bed. “Then prove it. Going once. Going twice.”

 

The knife was still on the nightstand. Sam was sure she hadn’t forgotten that, but his father had trained him well and whereas Dean was the better hand to hand fighter, Sam was no slouch, and tussling with Ruby had taught him a few new tricks too. Maybe he could get a lucky jab in.

 

He was distracted when Lilith claimed that a contract with her required sex, not just a kiss. Since Chuck had already predicted them ending up in bed together, it made some sense, although Sam was fairly sure she was making it up. What her motive would be he didn’t know. Sex didn’t seem to be one of her vices, from everything Ruby had told him about her. But he would play along for now.

 

He approached her, a smile on his face that he hoped looked suitably aroused but apparently she wasn’t easily fooled.

 

“This body does nothing for you, does it?” she asked. He didn’t see much point in lying about it.

 

“Not really,” he agreed. For some reason that only made her smile wider. She ran her hand up his leg, her eyes flashing white. That was a little repellent, to be honest, but he didn’t have time to think about it as she began to laugh.

 

“How about something more… alluring?” she said. And to Sam’s horror, she began to change. Her body elongated, growing taller and bulkier. Her hair seemed to vanish until it was as short as a man’s and Sam began to get a very bad feeling. He watched queasily as the muscles and bones shifted under her skin, the milky-pale expanse of the young woman’s skin shading tan and freckles erupting across her face. Except it wasn’t a female face or a female form anymore. It was a man’s and not just any man’s. He stared at this perfect facsimile of his brother and he felt dizzy and sick.

 

“Is this more acceptable?” she said in Dean’s gruff voice. But it wasn’t Dean and he needed to remember that. He had no idea how she had mutated the poor woman she was possessing, as though she was a shapeshifter. Ruby had never mentioned that as one of her powers. She hooked her hands into his collar and tugged him down on top of her, crushing his mouth to hers.

 

She smelled like Dean and his confused body reacted exactly as it would have if it was the real Dean beneath him. But he hadn’t completely lost his head, having grabbed the knife at the last second and he shifted position now to plunge it down towards her chest. Unfortunately, she was faster than he was and blocked his arm. Somehow she managed to flip them over so that she was straddling him, and she’d disarmed him in the process. _Fuck_. She raised it, her eyes alight with triumph but before she stabbed it down into Sam’s chest, the door to the room burst open. To Sam’s utter astonishment, Dean and Chuck tumbled into the room.

 

“I am the prophet Chuck!” the writer declared. Sam wanted to laugh or cry, he wasn’t quite sure which. He wondered if he was hysterical.

 

“You've got to be joking,” Lilith drawled, rolling her eyes. She climbed off Sam’s body and sauntered towards the self-proclaimed prophet in a way the real Dean never would, swaying those hips in a way that made Sam want to groan aloud.

 

“Oh, this is no joke,” Dean said. Sam was vaguely aware of some kind of vibration, like a truck passing by. But it got stronger and stronger until the room was shaking and a bright, white light that hurt Sam’s eyes flooded through the windows.

 

“You see, Chuck here's got an archangel on his shoulder. You've got about 10 seconds before this room is full of wrath and you're a piece of charcoal. You sure you want to tangle with that?” Dean had to shout to be heard over the noise and Lilith gave Sam one last regretful look before pouring out of her meatsuit’s mouth with a scream. As she left, the young woman’s body returned to its original shape, a fact Sam was supremely thankful for.

 

*

 

The sound of the Impala’s engine was soothing as Dean drove, the tarp over the rear window flapping in the wind. Sam was tired of talking, he’d told Dean the story of what Lilith had said and done several times now.

 

Eventually, Dean said, “So a deal, huh?”

 

“That's what she said,” Sam said tiredly. He had not dwelled long on the way she had shapeshifted to make the whole idea more appealing and so far Dean had not pressed him on it.

 

“To call the whole thing off – angels, seals, Lucifer rising, the whole nine?” Dean’s hands flexed on the steering wheel as he spoke.

 

“That was the gist of it,” Sam agreed. Dean gave him a peculiar look and made a grunt. “What?”

 

“You didn't think once about taking it?” Dean asked him. “Don’t think I didn’t notice how she was trying to tempt you.”

 

Sam swallowed hard and hid his unsettled feelings behind frustration. “You kidding me? Dude, you spent all day trying to talk me off the Lilith track.”

 

“I'm just saying…” Dean said, waving one hand expressively.

 

Sam shook his head. “She would have found some way to weasel out of it. And all it would have cost us was our lives.”

 

Dean opened his mouth to say something. Sam wondered if he was going to argue or whether he would circle around to exactly how Lilith had looked when he and Chuck had burst in. “Yeah, I guess you're right,” he said finally. His tone suggested he was humoring Sam.

 

“Anyway, that's not the point,” Sam added. Dean raised his eyebrows at him.

 

“What's the point?”

 

“She's scared. I could see it. Lilith is running,” Sam explained. He couldn’t explain how he knew but she seemed to believe what she was saying about not surviving to even see the beginning of the war.

 

Dean made an incredulous snort. “Running from what?”

 

“Don't know,” Sam admitted. It wasn’t strictly true, he had an inkling that there was something about him that she was afraid of. Given that he’d done little more than give her an impromptu blow-dry, that seemed improbable. And yet… “But she was telling the truth about one thing.”

 

“What's that?”

 

“She's not gonna survive the apocalypse. I'll make sure of that,” Sam declared.

 

Dean’s hands tightened on the steering wheel. “Sam--”

 

“I don’t want to hear it, Dean,” Sam said firmly. “We kill her, it’s game over and we all get to go back to our lives.”

 

Dean’s face paled and he kept his eyes fixed on the road ahead. “So, you’re going back to Stanford?” He sounded tightly controlled like he might fracture if he didn’t keep everything locked down.

 

“No,” Sam said wearily. “That part of my life is over. I can’t go back to that world anymore. I just meant we go back to how it was before. Saving people, hunting things. What did you call it? The family business?”

 

“Sam,” Dean said, his voice full of more sorrow than Sam could bear. “I’m sorry.”

 

“For what?” Sam asked.

 

“For dragging you back in. You got out and I should have let you go. It was selfish of me.” He flexed his fingers but didn’t look at Sam. “I missed you and so the first excuse I had, I took.”

 

“Dean, if Azazel had come to Stanford to kill Jess and I’d been there, what do you think would have happened?” Sam had pondered this question many times but had never come up with a satisfactory answer.

 

“I dunno,” Dean said, scratching at his jaw. “I mean, you didn’t have your psychic… no, wait, you were having visions back then, weren’t you? You just didn’t know they were visions at the time. Maybe he would have taken you to Cold Oak then…” Dean suddenly swung the Impala over to the side of the road and stopped. He leaned his head against the steering wheel, breathing hard.

 

“Dean?”

 

“I’m OK… I uh… I just thought that if you had been in Cold Oak and I hadn’t known you were there--”

 

“Then you would never have sold your soul and gone to Hell,” Sam finished.

 

“What? No! That’s not what I was going to say. I was trying to say you would have died there and I wouldn’t have ever known what happened to you…” Dean’s hands were shaking and Sam reached out instinctively and covered one of them with one of his own.

 

“You don’t know that,” he said soothingly.

 

“Sam, even after a few years back in the game, you were no match for Jake. Not because he was a better fighter but because he was willing to do things you weren’t. If Azazel had taken you from school, out of practice, scared and with no idea what was happening, you wouldn’t have lasted five minutes.” Tears gathered in Dean’s eyes and he dashed them away angrily.

 

“Dad would have come for me,” Sam predicted.

 

“Dad… Right.” Dean shook his head. “I don’t know if that would have been enough. How would we even have known you were missing? It’s not like you kept in touch.”

 

That stung but Dean was right. He’d all but cut them off, with only the occasional text message to Dean when his guilt stirred. “Shit. OK, dragging me back in _saved_ me. If I hadn’t spent those couple of years with you, hunting again and learning about Azazel as we tracked him and Dad, I’d have been toast." He broke off and bit his lip. "I would have gone to Hell, not you.”

 

“Why would you have gone to Hell?” Dean demanded.

 

“Why would I not have?” Sam retorted. “Azazel put me on that road when I was just six months old.”

 

Dean stared at him for a moment and then grabbed Sam’s collar and dragged him close, hugging him awkwardly. He was shivering, Sam realized as he wrapped his arm around Dean’s shoulders, and when he lifted his brother’s head with gentle fingers, he saw his face was wet and his eyes were red.

 

“Hey,” Sam said softly. “It’s OK. I’m here. With you.” Dean nodded and started to pull away but something made Sam hold him tighter. Something wild and reckless was stirring inside him, a desperate longing that he couldn’t resist, not with Dean’s green eyes looking at him like he was his brother’s whole world. So he leaned forward and pressed his lips to Dean’s, a soft, hesitant kiss. Just comfort and love. Dean didn’t pull away, and after a moment’s hesitation, his mouth opened slightly with a sigh. Sam didn’t take the offer, keeping the kiss gentle and although not exactly brotherly, nothing he couldn’t walk back later.

 

Dean seemed to sense this and pulled back. “Sam…”

 

Sam flushed, conflicting desires warring inside him. “Sorry, I… sorry.”

 

Dean nodded and after one final searching look, put the car into drive and pulled away.


End file.
